Page 30 of Pumpkin Spice Promises

“And before that?”

“He handled most of them. Toward the end, we hired a local kid, but after Pops passed, we couldn’t justify the expense.”

“Why not use one of the ranch hands?”

“They have more important work.”

“More important than getting paid for your product?”

Her gaze moved to mine. “You ask a lot of questions.”

“I’ve been accused of that today.”

“You should take the criticism seriously.”

“I’ll consider it.”

She shook her head and looked back through the windshield, but I could see the hint of another smile. Then a weathered wooden sign appeared beyond the next curve.

MARIGOLD RANCH

The faded yellow lettering had once been brighter. Wild marigolds grew beneath it in uneven clusters, their petals bowed beneath the rain. Beyond the entrance stretched rolling pasture, old fencing, a red barn, and the white ranch house sitting farther back beneath two enormous oak trees.

The place looked smaller than I remembered.

Or maybe I was simply larger now.

When I worked here as a teenager, Marigold Ranch seemed endless. There had always been employees moving between buildings, trucks entering and leaving, cattle shifting through the fields, and James shouting instructions from somewhere I couldn’t see.

Now the property was quiet.

Too quiet.

Several fence posts leaned at uneven angles. One section near the driveway had been reinforced with mismatched boards. The barn roof showed a patch of newer metal surrounded by rusted panels.

Carson noticed where I was looking.

“We’re managing.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to, your face did all the talking.”

There was no anger in her voice this time. Only exhaustion.

I followed the long drive toward the house. The porch light was already on despite the afternoon hour. An older woman stood behind the screen door, one hand pressed to her chest as she watched us approach.

“Meme,” Carson murmured. The affection in that single word told me more than anything else she had shared all day.

I parked beside an old Toyota Camry and shut off the engine. Before Carson could reach for the handle, I jumped out, ran around, and opened her door.

She looked at me. “I can open a door.”

“I’m sure you can.”

“Then why do you keep doing it?”

“Because my mother would know if I didn’t.”